


Still Young

by 1000Needles



Category: Final Fantasy XII
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-13
Updated: 2016-12-13
Packaged: 2018-09-08 07:47:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8836258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1000Needles/pseuds/1000Needles
Summary: Ashe is melancholy. Her knight and her sky-pirate do what they can to make her feel better.This story was originally published May 9, 2007, in LiveJournal's ffxii-fic community. Spoilers through the Mosphoran Highwaste.





	

I'm sitting by the fire, my legs drawn up to my chest, brooding—yes, I do, I admit that to myself, I am not so lacking in self-awareness as they think me—when the movement at the other side of the flames catches my attention and I lift my head to see Balthier with his hand in Basch's hair. Basch's face is as open and guileless as ever; his pleasure is evident, and I mark how his hand steals round the pirate's waist. Melancholy floods me, so familiar it might well be by now an acquired taste, an exotic spice. I am too young to feel so old. I do not think I will ever be touched again.

In my tent, I run my hands over my breasts, down between my legs, but oh, it is fruitless; even the image of my knight and that sky-pirate coupling provides no spark. I roll to one side and bury myself beneath the pelts. I would like to cry, I think, but I have never had talent for that skill. Instead I lie there, empty, wondering if I will grow old thus, unsatisfied. You laugh, I know. I do not blame you. Perhaps you satisfied me once; but I was young then, young, young, and now you are only a ghost. Now I feel as bleached as the Dalmascan desert.

In the morning Basch asks how I fare. "Quite well," I tell him. He is striding around our campground, stowing the heaviest items within his rucksack. Balthier is poring over the map. We strike to the Mosphoran Highwaste.

 

* * * * *

 

It was so new and so alive back then. I remember touching you, the way my palms slid down your skin, the way you kissed me and we both laughed, because it was so startling: we were both so young and when you pinched my nipples between your fingers you made me groan and twist and I was too innocent to be embarrassed by the sounds I was making. Candle-wax on my breasts, how did you think of that? I writhed and breathed and begged for more. When you entered me it hurt so much and then you went limp and we didn't try again for months, thinking we did not know how to do it properly, but in between we tried everything: you spanked me, I sucked you off, you told me dirty stories and I fingered myself, panting, while you watched. When we came to each other again we knew better and despite the hurt I struggled on, thrusting against you, and you came so quickly; I did not come. I did not come until later, after you were gone, and even then only after I made up new stories in my mind, about a pirate, and a knight, and all the atrocities they would visit upon my body. In the morning I was harsh with them and kept my face stiff. My secret burned between my legs. My secret: you never made me come, Rasler. I bucked, and I moaned, and I lied. You were too young to know.

 

* * * * *

 

We make our camp north of the Nebra. It is quiet here, peaceful, I think, if I had a heart to feel peace. Below the dune where our tents are set the palms rustle in the evening breeze. The children are out with Fran somewhere a-hunting wolves. Balthier has made a meal out of gathered oddities and our remaining provisions, but I have no tongue to taste his concoction; the savor is sour to my mouth. Sometimes I would I had a tendency to drink. Anything to numb this o'erwhelming numbness. But even wine holds no interest for me now; and I watch as Basch and Balthier pass a bottle betwixt them, laughing over some small amusement I cannot join. I duck back into the shadows, leave them at the fire, pretending to write in my journal as I gaze at them over the pages. They think me to bed already. I know I ought not be observing them so, and yet my eyes cannot let them be: Balthier, his hand nudging aside Basch's vest, Basch with his hands in the pirate's hair. I stare down at the paper on my lap and am startled to find my eyes swimming with tears. Rasler, Rasler, where are you now? Even your mocking laughter would be a sort of company. I am so immersed in my self-pity that I miss the moment when they move from the fire to my side. My stomach gives a sickly sort of lurch when I realize that now they are watching me.

"Oh, princess," Basch says. I do not think I can bear his kindness, but I am struck anew by the beauty of his face: it is all too frank and clean and the scar scrawled across his features is only a piquant addition, somehow bringing all the rest of him into clear focus. Balthier is at the other side of me, and I wince in advance, anticipating his sarcasm, but to my surprise he lifts my hand and lays a kiss upon it, lingering longer than I can bear.

"I did not intend to interrupt," I say, and my cheeks are burning. I see Basch and Balthier exchange a glance. Then Basch sweeps me up into his arms. I begin almost to fight, but the sensation of weightlessness is wonderful—his strong biceps around me, his close-cropped beard against my forehead—and despite my inclination I relax, cursing my weakness.

"We invite you to join us, tonight," Balthier murmurs. I kick, then.

"I am perfectly happy on my own."

Basch deposits me on their pile of pelts. "You don't look happy. Have I read you wrong?"

"I don't want your sympathy," I say, and shamefully my voice breaks. Again they look at each other, the pirate and my knight, and I am torn between humiliation and desire: how like is this to all those moments alone in my tent, my hand between my thighs, dreaming of them together? Still I know for certain they have no interest in me, and I fight up into their double embrace, one on each side, and Balthier, he of the silver tongue, is stroking my shoulder with gentleness I would never have imagined.

"Princess," says he, "we shall return you to your tent forthwith, if that is truly your wish. But, believe you, I know something of loneliness: and I would alleviate it if I may."

"Aye," says Basch, my lovely knight, all a picture of earnestness, kneeling before me. I blush. Before the two of them, I feel all the inexperience of youth upon me. It is not an unpleasant sensation.

"What do you know of females?" I say. I mean it lightly, but it comes out harsh, as my words so often do; and I am surprised to see Balthier laugh and press me down with those long be-ringed fingers.

"Ah, princess," he purrs, "you think you know so much," and then he is shucking up my skirt, nuzzling against my underclothes. I am too surprised to stop him or say anything at all. He is nipping at the skin of my thighs, teasing, kissing, and when I raise my eyes Basch is lingering over me, then unfastening my blouse and pulling it down until my breasts are exposed. He is so hesitant. I realize I have not given consent. I ought; I know my Captain well.

"Please... continue," I say, looking into his warm eyes, and then drop my fingers to Balthier's shoulders, to include him in the request. In response, Balthier takes fabric in his teeth, gives a yank to slide it down my skin and expose me to the cool night air. I shudder, lift my hips involuntarily to his mouth. Basch gives suck to my ear, nibbles, slips his hand to my breast, cupping and cradling and folding the nipple between his thumb and forefinger. It is too much: Balthier's tongue now lapping at the lips between my legs, Basch toying with a nipple, kissing my cheek: I gasp and say, "I would... I would see you together, please, will you do me that honor?"

Basch lifts his face; Balthier gives me one last long lick and rests his chin upon my stomach. "Whatever you desire, princess," he drawls, and I do not think he is being sardonic; he reaches for Basch and then they are tangled together, Basch, oh my knight, on his back, grunting his surprise as the other man topples him and takes his mouth. My hand slides south. I have only seen this before in my day-dreams. Basch flips Balthier and they wrestle together, bare muscle and sinew, vests pushed aside. Then Basch worms his way free and takes me in his arms.

"Together we may be, my lady, but tonight you are between us;" and he positions me so Balthier is on the other side, and I feel his firm thighs against mine, Balthier's chest against my back, and oh am I truly lying on top of Basch, my knight— our noses nearly touching, and his velvet lips grazing mine— surely this is fantasy I think and then Balthier has his hand under my skirt and oh, no, this, surely, is realer than anything I have yet to experience. I spread my legs to Balthier's agile fingers, straddling Basch, feeling the rough fabric of his trews against that delicate ache of my center; Balthier is manipulating me with a deftness that makes me dip my head back and moan.

"Now, princess, would be the time to relieve the captain of his cumbersome attire," Balthier says into my ear. I gasp and buck against his hand and try to collect myself enough to begin with the buttons. Beneath me, Basch stretches—that marvelous expanse of torso, of muscle moving seductively beneath the surface!—and when I manage to work his trews down I am rewarded with his oh-I-had-not-imagined-it-so-handsome cock, springing supple from his shorts, thick and warm and— Balthier is reaching under me to grasp it, elegance and girth, and he guides the shaft into my passage, playing my little button with the other hand as he does. Basch rises easily into me, I sink upon him with wonderful fullness. His eyes slide closed (oh my knight, oh my beautiful knight) and with Balthier's hands now on my hips, urging me, I begin to rock, riding, riding, and the groan which comes from Basch's lips is like birdsong at morn.

My breasts are cupped from behind; Balthier chews my neck, the curve of my jaw, with slow, liquid kisses. He has a nipple in each hand, playing the two back and forth till my hard diamond is aching to burst as I rise and fall and rise again, the length of Basch sliding sweet as honey out to tease my tender folds and in, oh, in so hard against the very heart of me. Each downstroke I press firm against his pubic bone, the delicious scrape of hair, the— Balthier has fallen against me now, sweating, his cock cradled within the scoop of my buttocks, and everything is warm and wet and now I am falling, falling forward to meet Basch's lips, his beard scrapes my chin and his tongue twists against mine with such friendly desire and I am shuddering, shaking, squeezing tight around Basch, around Balthier, their arms around me from both sides, over, I am over the top, gulping air as I convulse, more, more, yes, enough, finally, gods, enough.

 

* * * * *

 

In the morning Balthier fries eggs over the fire. Basch sits beside him, his legs drawn up to his chest, his hair loose over his shoulders and radiant in the desert sun. Balthier brings me a plate. My appetite surprises me. We eat, the pirate, my knight, and I. It is not a beginning. It is only another moment. I savor the tang of tomato on my tongue. There will be more mornings, more plates of egg and tomato. I am still young.


End file.
